


wretched

by Wicked_Seraph



Series: Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020) [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Also Hints of Unfulfilled Thancred/Ryne So..., Emet-Selch is Not a Nice Person, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Hate Sex, It's... Definitely Basically Noncon, Nonconathon Treat, Stolen virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Seraph/pseuds/Wicked_Seraph
Summary: “You’re vile,” Ryne hisses as a hand wraps around her throat — not enough to bruise, let alone suffocate, but enough to remind her whose claws dig into her thighs.“So you’ve told me,” Emet-Selch whispers, licking the shell of her ear.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Ryne | Minfilia
Series: Aether Poisoning (Kinktober 2020) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949692
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	wretched

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags before proceeding. If a fic of this nature isn't your cup of tea, there is no shame in clicking the back button and finding one more suited for your tastes. 
> 
> If this is the kind of blend you like, however? By all means, I hope you enjoy! ^^
> 
> Written for Day One of Kinktober 2020: Hate Sex.

The girl moans so prettily — as he’d thought she would, as her kind always did. Even while she bares her teeth at him in some pitiable attempt at intimidation, her tender little body welcomes him. 

Greedy. Shameless. 

“You’re vile,” Ryne hisses as a hand wraps around her throat — not enough to bruise, let alone suffocate, but enough to remind her whose claws dig into her thighs. 

“So you’ve told me,” Emet-Selch whispers, licking the shell of her ear; his cock hardens as she squirms against him, clenches around him. Not that she has much of a choice, pinned against a wall with her legs spread as widely as they are. Indeed, there’s naught else she  _can_ do — the precocious strength of a mortal girl would pale against any opponent, Hydaelyn’s blessing be damned. 

The resistance that greets him with every thrust, her sweet cunt tightening around him, suggests that she means to make it difficult — though, he notes, her shrieking has softened, her voice throaty as he seeks her weakness again and again, thumb dragging and stroking against her slick little clit.

Perhaps she simply means to feel more of him, to draw him deeper; her brows are knit but her expression has long since lost its bitter edge. She rolls her hips, almost quaintly — clearly not certain  _why_ her body compels her to do so but relishing the way his cock sheaths further within her as she does.

It would dreadfully easy to make it painful, to fuck her bloody and leave her crumpled in a puddle of his spend and her tears. Easy — and utterly banal in its predictability. He’d tasted enough thrashing, squealing conquests to last him at least four lifetimes.

But to pluck the nectar from a trembling bud, to pry her open petal by petal until she sobs and begs for release? 

Now  _that_ is a delicacy rich enough to whet even the most anesthetized of palates.

He can feel the peaks of her breasts against him; it’s tempting to take one of those rosy buds in his mouth just to watch her cheeks flush with shame… but that would mean pulling away from her mouth, a pleasure he’s keen to enjoy as long as her strength allows.

Her lips are chapped and coppery, split from teeth pressed into them in a vain attempt to stifle her cries. He thinks it’s a vast improvement over the insipidness of an unblemished kiss, to be able to taste her agony and pleasure as she bleeds and moans into his mouth.

“Dis--gusting… wr-wretched…  _arrogant,”_ she gasps, her voice broken as he fucks into her, his pace maddening and cruel and  _gods_ she can feel something happening, her body keening for some kind of peak, her insides taut like a bow’s string —

He can smell Hydaelyn’s stink in her sweat, in the wet coating her thighs and his cock; he’s not sure whether it nauseates or excites him.

“Wanton little temptress.” Oh, how she hates it; her cunt tightens as if to force him out, instead making him see stars and drive harder into the vice of her heat.

“Ah — I —“ There’s a telltale rhythm to the pitch of her sighs. Were he kind, he would ignore them, find his own release and pretend he hadn’t notice how close she was to hers.

Cruelty is far sweeter; bless her, the poor thing’s body is  _telling_ him how to sup on her madness, and she hasn’t any wherewithal to know how to mask it. 

And so he slows his pace, maneuvering her just so that his lust finds purchase and grazes precisely where her body tells him to, playing and stroking her clit with all the patience of a tender lover. Were it not for her bruised lips and bloody thighs, a voyeur could have assumed as much.

_Perhaps this is how she might have liked Thancred to touch her_ , he muses. A shame, really.

Ryne seems to realize this a moment too late, a single tear streaming down her cheek as her first climax is stolen from her.


End file.
